Chapter 70: The Heart of a Dream

16 Days Ago:

The ruins are crumbling. With each earthquake, more rubble crashes to the ground. The Excalibur family is backing away from the debris. Slaves are abandoning the fight, knowing that they have lost. Preferring freedom over fear.

Sânge leans against the wall, the blood lacrima pulsing in his hand. He has stared at it for a long time. Sometimes, he lifts it to his chest, as if he will put it back. But then he stops.

This lacrima didn't make him strong. What if everything Black-Steel said is true? What if strength must be found in the heart? And not the physical heart. Certainly not a lacrima pretending to be a heart…

He stands. The wall is collapsing behind him. He closes his eyes and breathes in the scent of blood. There is so much of it. Excalibur blood. Slave blood. He can smell the pungent scent of the poison-dragon slayer's blood. There is no mistaking Giseld's either. Another deep breath identifies Angel's blood, mingled with someone else's, a scent he doesn't recognize. He parts his lips to savor another taste.

His eyelashes flutter as a metallic scent settles on his tongue. This is blood he has tasted before. He recognizes it as the Night Terror's.

He wonders if the King has killed him. He swirls the scent around in his mouth, coaxes it into his lungs.

It is warm. It is alive. It is mingled with a heavy, honey-sweet blood-scent. He knows this is the blood of the woman he danced with. The child's aunt. Dreamer.

Her blood is growing cold.

He's not sure what guides him. He winces through residual pain from the battle with Gajeel. He unfolds his wings and flaps into the night sky, toward the top of the tower. Toward the scent of death. Perhaps it is the memory of her eyes. Pink eyes that shimmered with tears of rejection, so innocent and full of life as they looked up at him in the crowded ballroom. There was magic in those eyes. He knew this to be true because of her charm magic, but it was something more. It was the same alluring glow that shone in the eyes of all of these fairies. The same charm he had just witnessed in Gajeel's red eyes. The same bold glow that shone in Jezran's and Macbeth's eyes in the diamond cave. It was glorious.

He descends from the roof, where a hole allows him to land in the room below, enveloped by the overwhelming aroma of blood.

The Night Terror is holding her body in his arms. He is drenched in her blood. He is shaking, and screaming, and crying. He is begging her to wake up.

Sânge can tell by death-smell in her blood that she will not wake up.

Macbeth sees him and turns his gaze. He is broken. He is a lost child, trapped in a nightmare.

In a whimper that is almost pleading, he says, "She's dying."

"No," Sânge replies. "She is already dead."

The Night Terror cries out. He buries his face in her hair. Sânge watches.

"I can't lose her!" he shouts, so desperate. "Without her, I'm…" He looks at Sânge with a completely hopeless expression. "She makes me good," he whispers. He presses his lips to her forehead, as the tears cascade.

"Dream, please! I lied! I'm sorry…" He is hyperventilating. He is lost in the darkness. "I do, my sweet Dream. I do... You know I do."

Sânge's blood is pumping quickly. He has no heart to control the flow, but his magic responds in its place. He feels something welling up inside of him at this sight. It is as desperate as the Night Terror. It is a wild, terrified compassion.

Black-Steel… He had said, "Strength comes from protecting the people you love. It comes from helping those who need it, even when fighting for them puts your own life in danger."

"Kobolse…" Sânge feels strange. As if everything he is witnessing is surreal. He is lost in a timeless moment with the Night Terror. The world is collapsing around them, but he is trapped with this man, his enemy, in the splintering wood of time.

Kobolse had protected him when he was weak. She had raised him when he did not deserve it. With selfless generosity, she gave life to the orphan. And Kobolse is the strongest being Sânge has ever known.

"He was right," he says, with no bitterness. Only when Sânge stood up for the weak and innocent, could he ever consider himself strong.

Innocent, shimmering pink eyes.

He looks at the lacrima in his hand.

"I can save her."

Macbeth looks up. His lips are quivering; his terrified eyes are full of hope.

"Please," he begs. "I'll do anything."

Sânge approaches. Macbeth instinctively braces, defensively. Of course he does. He is a wild animal, intent on protecting its family, even when its family lays dead in its arms.

"Her blood…" Sânge sniffs. "It has not been cold for long. There is a chance… I will try. You must let me try."

Macbeth relaxes. He allows Sânge to approach. He lays Dreamer back, opening her chest to him, showing him the damage.

"Look away, Night Terror."

He does.

Sânge reaches in the cavity in her chest and pulls it out. What remains of a pierced heart. It is only a scrap of shredded flesh. It will never beat again.

But there is a pulsing in his left hand. There is a lacrima, its magical energy naturally growing stronger around all of this blood. Her blood.

Macbeth dares a glance back down, as Sânge lowers the lacrima into her chest. He holds it there, and watches as her torn ventricles, arteries and veins, naturally begin to wrap around the glowing magical stone. The lacrima is fusing itself with her, as it had done with Sânge.

He doesn't know if it will bring her back.

But he hopes.

"Please, Dream…" Macbeth tucks hair behind her ear. "Don't abandon me…"

Time continues to splinter.

And suddenly, her uninjured lung inhales deeply.

"She's alive." He takes a deep breath, smelling her blood again. There is no denying the fresh warmth that is now pulsing in her veins. It is mingled with the magical scent of the lacrima, a striking similarity to Sânge's own blood-scent. But it doesn't matter. She is alive.

A stone brick clatters to the ground beside them. It is only now that they are aware of time.

Sânge slides his arms under her back to pick her up, but Macbeth's hand closes around his throat. His swirling eyes are panicked. Furious.

"I must fly her to safety," he explains.

"If you hurt her…"

"On my honor, I want only to protect her."

To protect the innocent. To give life to a stranger as Kobolse had done for him.

Macbeth releases him.

Sânge flies her limp body out onto the battlefield. He declares his pure intentions to Arturus Excalibur as he lands before them and presents his limp offering.

"You must save her," he says. "She is innocent."

And when they take her, he returns to the tower. He returns as the floor finishes caving in, as the walls are imploding. He returns and catches Macbeth.

Macbeth is not innocent. He is not some weak, useless child who needs protection.

But he is the only one who will protect Dreamer, until his last breath.

All Sânge cares about now, is protecting her. If that means rescuing the Night Terror, then so be it.

He leaves the Night Terror in the courtyard. They share a look. An understanding.

And Sânge takes flight.

As he soars in the sky, away from the rubble, away from the one he called King, tears streak from his own eyes.

He is smiling.

For the first time since Kobolse disappeared…

Sânge feels strong.

It was like waking from the most peaceful sleep she had ever had. There was no rush, no panic. There was only quiet tranquility. Warm serenity. Her ascent into wakefulness was slow, paced, and careful. She laid awake for a while before opening her eyes, as her brain resumed function.

When Dreamer did open her eyes, she was looking out the infirmary window, warm sunlight on her face. Maybe that was why she felt so content.

Slowly, she processed.

She wondered why she was here. Her mind casually meandered into memory. It was like trying to recall a dream she had weeks ago. There were blurry images of battle, yellow eyes, black diamonds. Her memory told her that she had fought Resmond.

That couldn't be true, could it?

She wondered if it had really happened. Could she ever have been that strong? Her memories told her that no, she only fought Resmond with the help of Macbeth. She could have never done it without him. She wondered where he was now, as she stared out the bright window.

"Dreamer?"

A voice called out to her. It aided her into consciousness, like a gentle hand, pulling her from endless sleep.

Slender fingers touched her arm. A figure stepped between her and the sunlit window, crouching at the side of the bed. She was gorgeous, as always, but her ocean-blue eyes were full of fear and exhaustion. Dreamer had the instinct to take those feelings away from her, as she used to do when Lisanna disappeared.

"Mirajane," she tried to say, but her voice was a pained croak, as if she hadn't spoken for a long time.

"Oh, Mavis!" Mirajane's hands went to her mouth, tears immediately springing from her eyes, as if the ocean waves had breached a barrier. "You're awake! You're really awake!"

Dreamer didn't respond. She was too busy taking in the sight of her best friend and trying to understand why Mira sounded so surprised—so urgent.

"Do you know who you are?" her friend asked, panic now in her voice.

"…Of course?" Dreamer blinked as she tried to make sense of the strange question.

"Tell me where you are!" Mira demanded.

"The guild infirmary…" Dreamer's voice was getting stronger with each word she spoke, warming back up to being used.

"Who's the Fairy Tail guild master?"

"Uh… Makarov?" she raised an eyebrow. "Mira, why—"

"What's your last name?"

"Cumula. But why are you ask—"

"What was it like when Mystogan kissed you?"

Now this jerked her right awake.

"WHAT? Mirajane, I've told you a thousand times that Mystogan and I never—"

"You're okay!" Mirajane interrupted, as the tears picked up again. "You're really okay!" She grabbed Dreamer's hands and sobbed onto the bed. Then suddenly, she stood upright. "If you EVER scare me like that again, I'll kill you, do you understand me, Dreamer?!"

"Whoa, whoa, calm down, Mira! I promise—" Her own words were cut off by the sudden realization that she was in pain.

It wasn't as if it were a fresh wave of pain or something she'd done had caused her to feel pain. It was more like, the pain had been there all along, but she wasn't awake enough to feel it.

Until now.

"Ow… My, chest…"

Mirajane knelt back down, concern now shining in her eyes once more. "Be careful when you move, Dreamer." She placed her hands on Dreamer's shoulders and gently helped her sit up. "Porlyusica says it's going to take you six more weeks to heal."

"Heal?"

She glanced down at her chest, where the pain was coming from. Her torso was wrapped in tight bandages.

"What happened to me?" She was trying to remember, but it was difficult. She did her best to think back to the battle with Resmond, but… It was like she could only remember walking into the room with Macbeth, not anything that followed.

"You fought Resmond," Mira said softly. She was rubbing Dreamer's knuckles. "You beat him," she clarified.

"Really?" Dreamer blinked and then rested her head back against the pillow with a smile. "I knew Macbeth could do it."

"No, Dreamer." Mira squeezed her hand. "You beat Resmond."

This was an impossibility, so Dreamer laughed. Or at least she tried to laugh, until a stabbing pain in her lung informed her that laughter was not an option.

"It's true. Macbeth says… Or, well he doesn't really say anything. In fact, he hasn't spoken to anyone since you got back, but Erik listened to him thinking, and he says that you made Resmond feel all of your emotions—and it drove him so crazy that he basically broke the floor and fell through it."

Dreamer frowned. She forced emotions onto Resmond. Could she even do that?

Something told her that Mira must be speaking the truth. For some reason, Dreamer felt the strange sensation that her soul wasn't carrying any stored emotions. Which should be impossible, unless of course, she poured all of its contents into an empty husk of a man.

"But in the process, he stabbed you with a diamond spike…" Mira's bottom lip trembled at this. "We were all afraid that you might not wake up. You were in a coma for sixteen days."

"Sixteen days?" No wonder she felt so rested.

A thought suddenly occurred to her, shaking her to her core.

"Syllestra?"

"She's perfectly okay," Mirajane promised, with a smile.

That was all Dreamer needed to hear. Nothing else mattered really.

"Did anyone else get hurt?"

"Just a little," her friend answered, still massaging her hand. "Erik had to fight off some snake venom. He's an official member of the guild now, by the way. Gajeel had some broken bones, but he healed fast. Piper was mostly okay, just some cuts and bruises. Jezran lost a kidney."

"He lost a kidney?!"

Mira giggled. "Yes, but now he's up serving tea every morning, just like normal."

That was a relief, at least.

"What about Macbeth?"

"He's…" Mira frowned. "He's okay, physically. But I don't know about emotionally. He hasn't spoken to anyone and we don't see him around much. Not even Gajeel or Erik can talk to him."

This was concerning, but Dreamer tried not to ponder it too much.

"Maybe he's jealous because of your secret dragon-slayer lover," Mira teased.

"My what?"

"You must have really charmed him," she said, eyes glinting. "To make him give you his heart, literally!"

"What are you talking about Mirajane?"

"Your heart, silly!" Mira jutted her finger toward Dreamer's wrapped chest. "You were impaled. You don't have a heart anymore. At least, not your own."

"You're literally not making sense right now."

"Sânge," she said the name like a prayer. "Erik says he saved you. He knows because Macbeth can't stop thinking about it."

"Sânge?" Dreamer touched the bandages on her chest with a frown. It seemed like a distant dream, but she was sure that was the man she'd danced with at the ball—the same one who tried to stop them on the bridge before they reached Resmond's tower. "I don't even know him."

"Sure, whatever you say, Dreamer~" Mira giggled. "No wonder Macbeth is so depressed. His beloved stole another man's heart." Her eyes twinkled, but they were gentle, too.

"Mira, I really didn't—"

"I know, silly." Her friend teasingly flicked her nose. "I don't care about that anyway." Overwhelming joy touched her eyes and cheeks. "I'm just so happy… so happy that you're okay." Fresh tears escaped the corners of her eyes. "You're really okay."

Dreamer rested a hand on her friend's, and smiled. "I'm okay, Mira. I'm sorry I made you worry." She soothingly stroked her knuckles for a moment before, "but what do you mean about my heart?"

Mirajane opened her mouth to answer, but at that exact moment, the infirmary door burst open.

Standing there, heaving for breath, was a very disheveled looking Piper. The unshaved half of his hair wasn't styled, his blue facial hair was stubbly and overgrown, he was in pajama pants and a t-shirt despite the hour, and he definitely smelled like cigarettes.

"Is it true?!" he gasped for breath. "Erik just said he heard Dreamy wake up—that really…" His emerald eyes found hers. "Dreamy…"

"Piper, you can't touch her!" Mirajane said quickly, her voice heavy with warning. "She's still healing."

Piper was across the room in an instant. He obeyed Mira, opting instead for grabbing Dreamer's blanket and sobbing into it.

"Dreamy, Dreamy! It's true! It's really true!" He was heaving with how hard he was crying. "I'm sorry, doll! I'm so sorry!"

She swallowed nervously, not really sure what to do in response to this. Awkwardly, she lifted her hand to pat his head. "What are you sorry for, Piper? I'm okay. See?" She willed him to look up and see her smiling. He did, but it only sent him into wilder sobs.

"Doll, I gotsta tell you's! I got smashed! I mean, I was hammered. I was three sheets to the wind, Dreamy—I was so damn drunk I was pukin' for three days straight! I know it ain't right, I know I broke almost four years' sobriety, but doll, I t'ought I lost you's! I wasn't t'inkin' straight!"

"Sh, it's okay, Piper…" she stroked his head. "I forgive you, okay?"

"Don't worry," Mira added, cheerfully, "Cana already punched him in the teeth for it."

"Yeah, and MJ dangled me from so high up in the sky I t'ought we was in outer space!"

"Really Mira?" Dreamer raised an eyebrow at her.

"He needed to learn a lesson," Mirajane shrugged, smiling as innocently as ever.

"What matters is you're sober now," Dreamer said with a gentle smile. "And you didn't lose me."

Her words sank deep into Piper. His emerald eyes sparkled with the intensity of jade reflecting fiery sunlight. His sobbing quieted, but didn't stop. He simply laid his cheek on the bed and cried, thanking Mavis over and over.

Dreamer had difficulty finding time to rest after that. Within the first few hours of being awake, she swore she was visited by every single person in the guild, even people whose names she didn't know.

"Is it true you really zapped your kidney with Resmond's magic?" she asked, when a familiar old face came to visit.

"It is indeed, dear me." He showed her the scar on his lower back, below a tattoo of a naked woman being eaten by a wolf (courtesy of thug-life as an Excalibur). She thanked him a thousand times for saving Syllestra. He shook his head each time, stating that it was something any great-grandfather would do. Then he offered her a white bread and mustard sandwich, which she might have taken, but she was on careful dietary restrictions put in place by Porlyusica, since she hadn't eaten solid food in over two weeks.

She was visited by Natsu and Happy—the first of which was overly proud of the fact that he "told everyone so" in regards to Dreamer getting better. He also went on to tell her all about the missions and adventures he'd had with Lucy and Erza and Gray, mentioning that it would be so cool to have her in their group for a couple of missions, except that he wasn't interested in having Macbeth on the team.

Gray and Erza visited together. Gray apologized to her for all the times he used her to charm Freed. Then he asked for a real date, to make up for all the fake ones. She promised to have lunch with him once she got out of the infirmary for good. Erza apologized profusely as well, even pledging lifelong fidelity to Dreamer since it was Erza who fell for the false evidence that had been planted by Resmond to suggest he would attack Fairy Tail, when all along he was trying to lure Dreamer and Syllestra to Pergrande.

Levy, Lucy, Kinana, Laki, all visited. Lucy summoned a crab spirit to do Dreamer's hair, since Dreamer complained about not even having a brush to her head for sixteen days.

So many came. The Thunder legion, Macao and Wakaba, Reedus, Max, Bisca and Alzack, Makarov, Warren, even Nab had the courage to make a face-to-face appearance.

The most important, however, was when Syllestra walked through the door.

"…Mommy?"

Dreamer weakly lifted her head. She had been trying to catch a moment of rest, after hours of chatting with crying and laughing guild members. But when she saw Syllest, all tiredness left her body. She was awake, she was invigorated. She was full of energy and unspeakable joy.

The little girl was staring at her with wide, wavering eyes. The first thing Dreamer noticed, besides those eyes, was her hair.

"Syllestra? What happened to your hair?" It probably wasn't the normal thing to say after sixteen days without seeing someone, but it was so shocking, that Dreamer couldn't help it.

It looked as though her hair had been hacked off with scissors, to later be shaped into a slightly less horrid, layered bob.

The seven-year-old ran to Dreamer's side. Unlike everyone else, she paid no heed to the "no-touching" rule. She climbed onto the bed and threw her arms around Dreamer and nuzzled against her with the happiest giggle and brightest smile that ever existed. It hurt, but Dreamer hardly noticed. She was smiling too, so happy to have Syllestra in her arms again. Her sweet daughter. Safe. Not strapped to a horrible device being drained of magical energy. Safe, and beautiful, and perfect, even with the new hair atrocity.

"Mom, I love you."

"I love you too, Syllest." She breathed against the girl's hair and held her close.

"Romeo helped me cut my hair," she declared proudly. "I didn't want to look like my dad anymore!" her expression was fierce. "He's not my dad! I hate him! I hate him for hurting my friends and my family!"

Dreamer's eyes welled with tears. "Oh, Syllestra… You don't need to worry one bit. You're nothing like that man was."

"Uncle Cobra says you beat him," she whispered, in awe, pink eyes sparkling. "You're the coolest mom, ever…"

Dreamer smiled warmly at the praise. She kissed Syllest's forehead. "Hey, can you do me a favor?"

The little girl's round face beamed up at her. Her eyes shone with total reverence, a look that said "I'll do anything for you, Mommy."

"Could you make me something? With your magic?"

Syllest's jaw dropped. Her eyes bugged. "You want me to use my magic?! Did that dragon-guy give you a new brain, too?!"

Dreamer laughed out loud, then winced at the pain. She gently nodded.

"Really?! Okay! I'll make you something really special, I promise! I need some time to work on it so it's perfect! And I'll need Romeo's help, but I'll do it! You'll be so proud of me, Mom!"

I'm already proud of you, Syllestra.

"Mommy, did Macbeth come see you, yet?" Syllest asked.

"No, he hasn't." She shook her head.

"I think when he sees you, he'll be happy again. Everyone else got happy after they saw you. Macbeth needs to be happy because every time I see him he's crying and it's really sad and kind of girly too, you know? You're my mom and I didn't even cry that much! Boys are so weird. They're super crybabies, aren't they? Mom, I have to tell you something but you have to promise not to be mad okay? I kissed Romeo, but you're not mad, right? I did it cuz you never know when you might get kidnapped by your dad and taken away from your friends! But it was funny because he ran away crying. See, all boys are crybabies, huh?"

Syllestra stayed with Dreamer the longest. Until Porlyusica came to chase her out so that she could change Dreamer's bandages. By then, Dreamer was so exhausted, she could barely keep her eyelids partially open and was nodding off while the angry old woman tried to teach her how to change her bandages herself.

Finally, she was given permission to go back to sleep. As her eyes closed, she stayed facing the door, watching it for as long as she could. After all, everyone in the guild had come to visit her.

All but one.

Macbeth. Come see me. I miss you…